Other Side of the Fence
by Sparks-with-a-fist
Summary: What happens when a young muggle doesn’t see Hogwarts as a pile of ruins but as the glorious castle that it is? Ch. 1 introduces us to young Patrick McCullough and his vivid…imagination. This is written preHBP and takes place in 2010 unless otherwise stat


Summary: What happens when a young muggle doesn't see Hogwarts as a pile of ruins but as the glorious castle that it is? Ch. 1 introduces us to young Patrick McCullough and his vivid…imagination. This is written pre-HBP and takes place in 2010 unless otherwise stated.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this  J. K. Rowling does, except for the original characters. Those are mine. 

A/N: Read, enjoy, and review!

Pronunciation Guide

Kyrie: 'kir-E-"A the name is of Latin origin and means "Lord." As in Kyrie eleision.

* * *

July 2000

It was the summer of magic to a five-year old boy. He couldn't wait until September to tell the class what he did over his summer. While his friends would be telling stories of going to the lake, Mount Rushmore, and Disney World, he would be telling of his family vacation to Scotland; the home of all things magical and wild. The boy grinned, a dazzling smile with gaps from lost teeth, and ran to catch up with his parents.

Patrick had another reason to be excited; today he finally got to join his parents on his first real hike. His dad was always telling him stories of the places he and his mother had hiked, the ruins they had looked at, and the ghost towns to explore. Tales that made a young boy's imagination overflow with ideas. Who needed to read a fairy tale, when he could listen to stories of things his dad had done? His stories of adventure were real, not fanciful stories intended for dreamtime bliss.

Today they were going to go try and find the ruins of a castle his parents had heard talk of. Talk of the ruins had intrigued not only his parents, but all of the clansmen for miles around. Everyone knew the castle existed, but its exact location was unknown. Anytime anyone went out in search of the castle, they weren't able to plot the location on a map. Pens dried up, satellite-positioning devices had batteries die, and various other problems occurred. When the explorer tried to just remember the location on his map, by the time he got back so that the castle could be recorded they couldn't remember it belonged on the map. It was almost as if the castle did not want its location known. This was not the only problem facing those who dared to find the castle.

The path through the woods, while not overly strenuous except for the last hill, wound its way through dense woods. The legends surrounding the woods were dark and chilling tales. Most thought that these were told long ago to keep trespassers away from the stronghold hidden in the Highlands. Every couple of years or so, a hiker would come back into the village, terror stricken.

Once calmed, the hiker would tell a tale of epic proportions. Tales of encounters with creatures of legend; giants, werewolves, unicorns, centaurs, and something that looked like a gryphon but had the hindquarters of a horse rather than a lion. Other fantastic creatures were mentioned, but were too fantastical to be believed. No one really knew what to make of these reports. Whether real or imagined, it was evident that these people had been seriously traumatized by something. So time continued to pass, and still tales of fantasy and superstition surrounded the woods.

Patrick wondered for a while as he followed his mother and father up the trail if the tales were true. As much as he loved his father's stories because they were real, he had to admit deep down that he loved listening to fairy tales. Listening to such impossible tales made him wonder how possible it was to find mythical creatures, forgotten realms, and mysterious magicks did truly exist.

"Um…Dad?" Patrick asked pensively.

"Yeah Pat?" Came the reply from up ahead on the trail.

"What are some of the stories that the people at the village were telling you?"

Ivan laughed quietly. "Fairy tales son, nothing but fairy tales. Still, I wouldn't doubt that there are some dangerous animals in these woods. The people here have let the tales of close encounters with the beasts grow out of proportion. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking. It would be kinda cool to be able to someday find the creatures of those tales. That's all."

Ivan stopped on the trail and allowed his wife to get ahead of him so he could talk to Patrick. Ivan looked at Patrick thoughtfully, and with a touch of sadness in his eyes. "Son…that's a great thought. It really is. But magic and mythical creatures don't exist. The stories were made by people wanting to either scare their children into behaving or people wrongly identified a horse, wolf, or some other creature."

"Oh," the small boy's face started to fall. But he suddenly had a thought and perked up, "but you once told me that all myths have some truth in them. So it is still possible that someone did see something like that!" Patrick spoke with such hope and enthusiasm with a face so bright with hope that Patrick's father didn't have the heart to tell the boy otherwise.

"I suppose Pat. Its unlikely, but it is possible." This seemed to appease the boy and he raced ahead to catch up with his mother. Ivan shook his head. "Ah, to be young and worry free again. To believe so freely in all things, and see the goodness within," he thought to himself as he caught up with Kyrie and Patrick.

It wasn't that much longer and the family came to the last rise. After resting a few minutes, the family continued up the last three quarters of a mile to the crest of the hill. Patrick's legs hurt with the climb. He would have liked nothing more than to turn around or sit down and rest. He knew his parents wouldn't let him return to the vehicle alone and there wasn't any safe place to sit down and rest along side the path. He was beginning to wonder if this was worth it just to see a ruin of a castle.

"You doing ok there son," his father asked from behind him. "We don't want to lose you now."

"Yeah. Doing…just…dandy…" the boy panted as he continued to climb up. The trek seemed endless. The crest seemed so close, but so far away. Suddenly, they were there. They had reached the pinnacle of their climb. His mother disappeared over the crest as he reached the top. The site below took the last of his breath away.

The valley sloped down a hillside speckled with fragrant purple-gray flowers towards the bottom. Towards the east and a little north of them was a massive lake. The water was murky and from all appearances it would be extremely deep and cold, as was the habit of most of the lakes in the Highlands. North and west of them stood the keep…no the castle. It was far too large to be a keep. Patrick's jaw dropped the short distance to the ground. The locals were wrong! This wasn't a ruin of a castle; it was in near perfect condition!

Rising up out of the valley was a castle straight out of medieval legend. Turrets and towers. Guard walks and archery lookouts. Most castles of the time period were limited to floor space and levels depending on how rich the reigning clan happened to be. The clan that this castle protected must have been extremely rich and powerful. Even though there was a small hill in the way, Patrick counted six floors and there had to be at least two or three more below the hill.

While the castle was large and imposing, it was hardly a fortress. Though, due to sheer size, it didn't need to be. What the inside of this castle must look like. Patrick could almost envision the rich tapestries, ancient portraits, exquisite antiques that rested therein, and the great nooks to play hide-n-seek in.

"Isn't this…incredible," he asked in a voice overflowing with awe. His parents sighed, one that sounded like disappointment rather than joy of discovering such a find. "What's wrong?" Patrick's head cocked to the right as he asked.

"Nothing. We were hoping these ruins were in better condition that we might be able to explore them."

"What do you mean mom? Look! They are in near perfect condition!"

"What are you talking about Patrick? This place is more a monstrous pile of rubble than a mere ruin. You can barely tell where the front gate was." His mother pointed off in the distance towards the castle.

Patrick followed her finger to where she pointed. "That isn't the front gate mom. That's one of the towers. THAT is the main gate," Patrick said pointing to the opposite side of the castle from his mother.

Kyrie stopped, looked curiously at Patrick and asked, "what do you mean Pat?"

"You were pointing to the wrong area. Over there is the main gate. And the corners there, there, there, and there are the four corners making compass points like you and dad said they would," Patrick explained. Confused by the looks on his parents' faces he continued to describe the castle as best as his five-year-old vocabulary would allow.

His father bent down on one knee. "Patrick. You may be right as to the location of the door son, but we have no way of knowing for sure if those for corners of rubble were the towers or not. You do have a great imagination though son." Ivan patted Patrick on the back affectionately.

Patrick was frustrated. Why wouldn't they believe him? Why couldn't they see that he was telling the truth? He wasn't making this up. Were they making up what they were seeing just to see how well he could describe what he saw? "Look! I am not imagining it! Let's go down, you'll see that I am right."

"Pat…there isn't a point son. The castle is in such disrepair that we couldn't tell any former features if we tried."

"You…you don't believe me. You don't believe that I am seeing what I am seeing do you?" He couldn't believe it. His parents didn't believe him at all.

His dad sighed deeply and looked up at his mother. Looking back to him replied, "Pat...we do believe that the castle was once as grand as you say, the pile of rubble attests to that. And we are proud of the imagination that you have and for putting it to better use than dreaming up fairy tale creatures, but that is what it is Pat. Your imagination."

Patrick had never been so angry in his young life. He didn't know what to say. He knew if his parents went down the hill and got a closer look, they would see he was right. They just had to. Maybe if he took some pictures with his camera, they would see the pictures and believe him. "Fine," he said, trying not to whine. Whining would not get him anywhere with his parents, it never did. "Can we go down the hill so I can at least take some pictures of the…ruins…and the countryside."

His parents looked at each other. They knew Patrick was angry and hurt, but had given in too easily. He had something up his sleeve. They were going to have to watch him closely. "Ok. Let's sit and rest for a bit though, and eat our lunch." Patrick nodded and went over and sat down in front of a rock. He didn't realize how good it felt to sit and relax. He also didn't realize how tired he was.

The family sat in the warm June sun and ate as a gentle breeze took their cares away with each gentle gust. Ivan nudged Kyrie's elbow gently, "Looks like we won't be going to take any pictures after lunch. Our young photographer fell asleep." They looked at each other and laughed softly at the little boy curled up on a tuft of grass using a rock for a pillow. Anger lines were still etched here and there on the small, almost cherubic face.

* * *

Late October 2009

The knock at the door was soft, but urgent. The sound was such that it demanded immediate attention. Looking up from his desk Albus Dumbledore wondered what surprises awaited him today. "Come in," came the unhurried reply to the knocking. Minerva McGonagal entered with such a speed that Albus wondered for a moment if she had just walked through the door. "Good morning, Minerva. Something on your mind?"

She nodded and brought out a stack of parchment. From the looks of it, it was the list of the new students for the upcoming school year. Minerva set the pile carefully on the desk and pulled a sheet from the middle of the stack. Turning to Albus, "Yes. Albus, in all your years as Headmaster, have you ever seen anything like this?" Albus took the sheaf of parchment from her hands and looked at it speculatively through his half-moon glasses.

As he looked through the list of names he knew he was correct, it was the list of new students. The quill that resided in Minerva's office had been doing its usual fine job, even though it was only late October. From what he could see it was the typical list of names, birth dates, and addresses. As he read he stopped and scanned back up a few names. Between the names McCloud, Amelia A., and McDuffy, Everett J., was:

McCullough, Patrick Ivan. 15 April, 1995. Edinburgh, Scotland

Though the name and address were not all that peculiar, the birth date made Albus curious. "Minerva? Are you sure this is correct? A 15 year-old student starting Hogwarts next year?"

"As far as I can tell Albus. I have triple checked the Quill. There is nothing wrong with it. What does this mean?"

"It means that somehow, this student was overlooked four years ago when he should have started school." Before he could continue Minerva interrupted him.

"But that isn't possible. I keep the Quill in perfect working order!"

"I was not implying it had anything to do with you Minerva. It is very possible that the family could have been living outside of the British Isles, another school overlooked his abilities or any number of things could have happened. To answer your question, no, nothing like this has ever happened at Hogwarts. I have heard of it happening about seventy years ago at Durmstrang."

"What happened to the boy at Durmstrang, Albus?"

"I am not sure. I never heard, and I never thought to follow up on it. I was preoccupied with Grindelwald and his followers." Minerva looked at the headmaster carefully, her eyes taking on a very cat-like appearance. "I assure you Minerva, that is the truth. In many ways Grindelwald was easier to deal with than Voldemort. But also, Voldemort was easier at times than Grindelwald." Minerva just nodded, not really appearing to believe his answer.

"Well, what are we going to do about Mr. McCullough? Do we accept the boy and teach him over the summer, or do we refuse him entry?"

"We will not refuse him entry. We will leave that right to him; it is not up to us to decide the boy's future. The best thing I think we can do at this point would be to research the boy and see if we can figure out why he suddenly appeared on our lists. Come next July we will send him a letter; it will be interesting to see what turns up in all of this." Minerva nodded her approval and started to gather up the pile of parchment once more.

"Indeed it will. Thank you Albus. See you at the Halloween Feast." With that Minerva headed towards the door as another knock sounded.

"Yes, see you then Minerva. Enter!" Minerva nodded to the person entering as she left and headed down the rotating stairwell. As she descended she could hear the start of the conversation and had to smile to herself. "Ah! Harry, do come in! How do you liking teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

A mild laugh followed the question. "The teaching is going alright. After the DA and the…hands on experience, it comes as second nature. However, I need to talk to you about the two new school trouble makers."

"Ah, yes. This would be Bill and Fleur Weasley's twins wouldn't it? As one generation of Weasley twins leave, another takes over. It was only a matter of time." Both men laughed and Minerva could distantly hear the door close as she continued down the stairwell. She shook her head and laughed as she headed back to her office.

A tall, lanky youth hiked down the little used path before him. It had been many years since he had been down this path, so long that he had forgotten how to even get to the start of this trail. After weeks of research, he knew this was the trail. He felt it down to his bones. The trail through the forests of the Scottish Highlands suddenly grew steeper. Even with as much hiking as Patrick did, the trail made his legs burn and cried for him to stop and rest. He knew he couldn't. Not now. Not when he was so close to his final destination.

Patrick reached the crest and a break in the trees and stared in wonder at the valley below. Evergreen shrubs speckled with purple-gray flowers, which he recognized as heather, flowed down the mountainside. At the bottom of the hill was a lake, murky and deep, and on the other side stood the castle. The castle of his dreams, dreams that had been haunting and calling to him for almost as long as he could remember. It stood basking in the mid-June sun beckoning, calling to him to come closer.

He sat on a rock and stared in disbelief. He could not believe that after all this time he had finally found it, his own Shangri-La. Everyone he had ever talked to said the castle was nothing but a ruin, not as he saw it. What he saw was a magnificent medieval castle in all of its glory. He smiled as he lifted the camera to his face.

"Finally," he whispered to himself. "Proof for everyone who said that I was just dreaming…imagining…this. Now they can see for themselves that it isn't a ruin at all."

He sat back and drank heavily from a water bottle. He sighed and as he took another long drink he thought back to the first time he saw the scene that lay before him. Patrick smiled at the memory as he set his water bottle down. He could still remember how angry he was that his parents didn't wake him up so that he could go down and take pictures of the castle. What had made him even angrier at the time was not only the fact that he fell asleep, but that he didn't even stir on the hike back down.

His parents had soothed him by telling him that someone in the village probably had a picture that he could buy. No matter how they searched the town though, no one had a picture. Everyone had a similar story. When they got too close, their cameras wouldn't work. Batteries would die no matter how new they were, film would fall out of the camera as it was being loaded, and numerous other problems that were chalked up to clumsiness and forgetfulness.

Gazing around and gauging the lighting, Patrick decided not to move. He wouldn't get this kind of lighting on the castle if he went closer. Patrick lifted his camera to his face again and snapped a couple more pictures. He changed lenses and focused in on various parts of the castle. It was amazing to him to see the same castle, ten years later, still untouched by time.

Patrick stood and stretched. It was about time that he should start heading back. He wanted to beat his parents back to the inn. Picking up his digital camera gear, he started to put the various pieces of photography equipment away. He decided to take a quick look at the pictures. He knew the tiny screen on the back of the camera wouldn't do the castle justice, but he wanted an idea of how the pictures turned out. He hadn't looked before because to save battery power he had turned off the viewing screen.

He sat back down and fiddled with the tiny menu buttons. The first picture appeared on the screen. He smiled as it started to sharpen. There was the field. "Good, the heather turned out beautifully," he thought happily. But where the castle should have been was a picture of a massive pile of rubble.

"WHAT THE…?" The shock of what he saw cut his words short, but the exclamation caused several birds to burst from the treetops behind him.

Patrick quickly scrolled through the pictures stored within the camera, but all of the ones with the castle were the same. All they showed was a pile of rubble. He quickly dug out another memory card and put it in. He snapped a few quick pictures and played them back. Again, a pile of ruins appeared on the screen. Patrick was at a loss to explain it. These were brand new memory cards. All the other pictures taken with them had turned out perfectly.

Angrily, he stuffed his camera back in his bag and headed back down the trail. To have come all this way, and still not have proof. What was he going to do? How could he justify this to his parents? They had wanted to go to London on holiday, but no he had practically begged to come up here again. He focused on his footing down the steep path and where he was headed to prevent the tears of anger from falling down his face.

* * *

Patrick leaned against the door jam of the inn and watched the rain pour down. The storm had let loose its fury just moments after he returned from the castle. As the rain fell, he watched the light from inside reflect off the droplets as they hit the wooden porch. For but a moment the drops would gleam like liquid silver before being absorbed by the wood.

Normally the rain calmed, even soothed him. The sound of the drops falling reverberated in his head bringing back the memories of that afternoon. He was at a loss to explain how the pictures he had taken turned out so wrong. While he saw a normal castle as he looked at it, on the screen of his digital camera showed nothing more than a massive pile of ruins and rubble. For the first time in his life he knew what his parents and others must see when they look at the castle. There was only one way that he could think of to see if what he saw was real or his imagination. He had to get past the wrought iron fence and into the castle grounds.

He turned from the door and symphony of rain and headed to the library where his guide books and maps currently resided. He pulled out several maps from a case that sat at a mahogany table near the fireplace. He had to shift through quite a few of the maps before finding the one he needed. He unrolled the topographical map of the Scottish Highlands and proceeded to work out a rough hiking trail.

Pulling out some small colored dot stickers and placed one over "Strathnaver", the village where he and his parents were staying for the weekend. He placed another approximately where the trail started that he took that morning. He referred briefly to the map with trails on it, and returned to the map spread out before him. He placed a green dot on the western edge of the lake and south of the village. "There. That's where the castle should be." As he whispered this the green dot vanished before his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow and placed another green dot in the same place. This one too, disappeared.

He hadn't paid much attention to the locals when they said anytime someone tried to plot the castle on a map it didn't work; all the marks disappeared. He had scoffed at what these people had said, "It's unplottable." Now it looked as though there was some truth behind their words. He tried placing a green dot directly on the lake this time. It took a minute, but this one disappeared as well.

Patrick sighed in frustration. He would have to leave it be then. He knew roughly where the castle was, and if he hadn't forgotten that in 10 years, he wasn't likely to forget it overnight. Patrick placed several other dots on the map for reference points; including the highway and geographical landmarks.

With his reference points made he started looking at possible other ways to get onto the castle grounds. There were three obvious ways to go about it. One would be to cross the lake. Patrick frowned on this one because he didn't have a vessel and the lake was too deep and cold to swim across. The second was going over the mountains. Patrick considered this for a moment, but only a moment. While he had done some rock climbing, he didn't have his gear with him. He wasn't about to go out without protection into a new climbing area. While he was impulsive, he wasn't stupid. The last option, while the most feasible, was in many ways the least favored in his mind. It required him going through the forest. Some of the locals affectionately called it the "Forbidden Forest" because of the tales of mystery and monsters surrounding it.

The fact that there didn't seem to be any marked paths through the forest did not faze Patrick all that much. That was what a compass and GPS units were for. What gave him pause were the stories. Even though he had grown out of such fairy tales, the boy in him still wondered how much of it was true.

Patrick pulled up a chair and sat. He started to mull over what would be the best way through the forest. He noticed that the easiest entrance into the forest wasn't too far from the trailhead he had taken that morning. In small, precise handwriting Patrick made a note on the trail map as a good starting point. Despite his endless perusal, without knowing what type of trees and other vegetation grew in the forest, it was almost impossible to plot according to elevation changes; if his path ended up being blocked by a patch of briars it was pointless. He wished mentally for a way to get a map showing the different types of vegetative growth that occurred in the area. But those maps were extremely expensive, and one had to go through the government to get them.

Patrick rolled up his maps, except for the one roughly marking his trails, and put them away to make room for his pack. He wouldn't need much; it was just going to be an overnight trip anyways. He wanted to get to the castle, explore it a bit, and then come home. Patrick meticulously set out what he would take with him: a change of clothes, a sweatshirt, food, a couple bottles of water, a compass, his dad's GPS unit, his digital camera, matches, and various other odds and ends that he would need for an overnight camping trip.

Once he repacked his pack, he put the rest of his maps away and took his pack up to his room. There was no need in making his parents overly suspicious. They worried enough already. Ever since he saw the castle at the age of 5 he had wanted to come back and see again what no one else could see. What bothered his parents most, or so he thought, is that he was so preoccupied with this ambition that he hadn't really worried about his studies or future. His parents were more worried, in fact, that he was still obsessing about something they chalked up to a five year olds' imagination.

Patrick came back downstairs and sat before the fireplace. As he relaxed in the oversized armchair he browsed the wall of books next to him. He got up and pulled one down and started browse through it. It was a rather old book on Scottish history. Any other time he may have sat and read it, but he just wasn't in the mood tonight. As he was putting it away Mrs. MacMurray, the innkeeper, came in.

"Ah. There ya be me lad. I've been a lookin' for ye."

"Good evening Mrs. MacMurray. I'm sorry, I guess I didn't hide from you well enough," he replied with a charming smile.

She chuckled. "I figured ya was trying as much. Listen, I just got off the telly with your mum and da. They's stuck over in Wick because of this wee squall. They wanted ta let ya know they should be back sometime tomorra around midday, provided the storm breaks. Should ya want ta give them a ring, I have the number of the place they's stayin' at t'night."

Patrick nodded. "No, I won't call them back tonight. Mom is always worried about getting electrocuted when she is on the phone during a storm. She hates thunderstorms." He smiled and Mrs. MacMurray smiled back.

"Very well then lad. I was 'bout ta make a spot o' tea, would ye care for some too?" Patrick nodded and sat back down to think as he watched Mrs. MacMurray retreat to her domain known as the kitchen. Knowing her, she would come back with some plate of sweets along with the tea upon her return. She was a fine cook.

Patrick sat back and stared out the window. As the rain lashed against the panes he thought of his good fortune. While he was disappointed that he wasn't able to share his adventures of the day with his parents (something he truly looked forward to everyday), he was glad that he didn't have to explain and persuade his parents that he needed to go out looking for the castle, much less spending the night out there. Or worse, having to sneak off before the crack of dawn to go on this excursion. He could just about envision his mother's reaction if he did that. His mother had a healthy sense of adventure, but she was a mother and one that was prone to worrying about her only child.

As he stared out of the rain soaked window, the streaks of water took on the likeness of his mother's image. The visage he saw was one contorted in fury. "What were you thinking," She yelled in his mind. "Gallivanting across the Scottish Highlands, by **_yourself_**, in search for the answer to a childhood memory! And a memory that is more imagination than anything else! HOW DARE YOU!"

"Yes. How dare he," he thought with a rueful smile. How dare he want to find out if his memories were dream or truth. How dare he for wanting everyone to stop telling him that it is so great to have an imagination that allows him to envision this castle in its former glory. How dare he be haunted, plagued even, by dreams of him exploring the castle. Dreams more fantastic than any legend with the people and creatures within. Dreams more real than life itself. Of course, none knew of these dreams. Patrick could only imagine how they would scoff at the dreams, knowing how they scoffed at his memories.

As Patrick sat before the fireplace he rubbed his temples in frustration. It had been a mixed blessing moving back to Scotland. Well, back for his parents anyways. Patrick's father, Ivan, was originally from the Glasgow area. Ivan met Patrick's mother, Kyrie, when they were both at University; she was an exchange student from a small mid-western college in the U.S.A. After her time in Scotland, Kyrie had finished up her degree and teaching certificate, moved to Scotland and married Ivan.

Many adventures were to be had in the early years of Ivan and Kyrie's marriage. Exploring ruins, hiking forgotten trails, visiting far away lands. Kyrie had boxes upon boxes of photo albums and scrapbooks from their travels. Then, six years into their marriage came the biggest adventure of their lives. Raising a rambunctious boy for the next 18 years. Their son was blessed with his father's dashing Scottish looks, his mother's grace, and an adventurous spirit that ran his parents ragged.

Patrick had been born in Glasgow, but the family had moved to the States when he was still an infant (for reason he still did not completely know or understand). His father had taught at several Universities over the years and his mother taught high school history. Needless to say, education was considered fairly important in the household.

He was still not completely sure why his parents had wanted to move back to Scotland. His father's family had long since died, and in the U.S. they were living within several hours of Kyrie's parents and extended family. Patrick had been informed by his parents that they missed Scotland and were moving back, and that they also wanted him to finish growing up in a place that was distantly removed from the problems in America. In the midst of planning the move to Scotland, Ivan had gotten an offer teach at Edinburgh University and had jumped at the chance.

The next thing Patrick knew, his father was in Scotland buying a house and receiving shipments of the family's personal belongings. In the meantime, Patrick and his mom were packing things up, selling furniture, and moving. His father had moved over in June of 2009, Patrick and his mother followed in early October of that same year.

Everything still seemed so surreal. Almost nine months had passed and it was late May, and here he was sitting in the same inn that his family had stayed in ten years earlier during the family vacation. Although looking back, Patrick would hardly call it a vacation for his parents. They had come back for the funeral of Ivan's father. He was too young to understand really, and had only met the man a handful of times. For him it was just a chance to go experience something new and wonderful.

Patrick was looking forward to the new school year. Since they had moved too late last year to get him registered at the public high school he had been home schooled by his mother for the last eight months. Even though he had worked ahead of the curriculum that the schools in the area required, he still had a few weeks of "school" left which included his "exams." Granted he had never taken finals in the British school system before, but he considered it somewhat a joke because of how well he had done with is schoolwork that he had been required to cover. He did think that a good portion of it though was his teachers. Between his mother and father he had been educated better than most students in the public schools. Patrick was deeply grateful for the break from schoolwork though.

Ivan and Kyrie decided that the family need a mini-vacation before both Ivan and Patrick were consumed with exam time. Ivan had left his students working on projects and had cancelled class so that his students could theoretically work on their semester projects. Mary Beth figured that since Patrick was so much farther ahead than expected, that it would be acceptable to take a three or four day break and go relax.

Patrick grumbled at the thought of how this vacation was turning out. His parents were stuck roughly 60 miles away in a thunderstorm; Patrick didn't envy his father on this night. While his mother was fearless about a great many things, she was terrified of thunderstorms. "Mom is going to love this," Patrick muttered to himself. "She so wanted to go to London because she hadn't been there forever. Instead I convince her to let us come up here. She and dad could do some touring and I could get my…_proof_." He scoffed at the thought of his proof. His proof consisted of some childhood memories and a memory card full of pictures of breathtaking Scottish countryside and a pile of rubble. He could just hear the "I told you so" coming from his parents.

Patrick stood and started pace restlessly. He knew that he was going to get in trouble for running off tomorrow chasing after this dream again, but he had to know. It felt like a fire burning inside him. An all-consuming fire that could only be put out the absolute truth. He was so engrossed by his musings that he did not hear Mrs. MacMurray return with his tea.

"Lad? I have the tea for ye," Mrs. MacMurray said softly as to not startle the lad. Patrick started slightly anyway.

Patrick turned to look at Mrs. MacMurray and smiled when he saw the tray she carried was laden with all kinds of sweets along with a large pot of tea and two cups. "Thank you. May I take that from you?" He walked towards her and took the heavy tray from and set it on the small table that sat betwixt the two-wingback chairs before the fireplace. "Would you join me," Patrick asked. He knew that even though she had brought an extra cup, she wouldn't stay unless invited. It was just Mrs. MacMurray's way.

"Of course lad," she said as she sank into the chair nearest her. Despite her sixty plus years of age, Patrick was still surprised by the unassuming grace that she still possessed. Patrick poured a cup of tea and handed it to Mrs. MacMurray. He knew better than to try and "fix" anybody's tea with cream and sugar when he could barely fix his own to his liking. "Ye've seemed a wee bit preoccupied tonight. Care ta talk about it?"

Patrick glanced at her sideways as he poured his tea. He was mildly surprised in that her concern was genuine, not like most of the old ladies in the village just wanting gossip. Though he had no doubt that some of what he told her would be part of the local grapevine tomorrow. "Its nothing much Mrs. MacMurray. I am just disappointed with how some of my pictures turned out from this afternoon."

Mrs. MacMurray nodded with understanding as she took a tiny sip of her tea. "What don't ya like 'bout them lad? Aside from the fact the castle looks like ruins?" Patrick started as she asked this last question. He hadn't told anybody how his pictures had turned out.

"How did you know that the castle looks like ruins," he asked in what he hoped was a calm voice. He didn't want to give away the surprise he felt.

"Ah. Well lad…it has been known around the village for some time that certain people could see more than the pile of rubble that be layin' over the hills to the south of us. With the excitement and fervor you have worked at getting' over there, I knew ye had to be one of those people."

Patrick couldn't hide his surprise this time, "You mean…there are others? There are others who can see the castle, not the ruins." The last was meant as a statement as Patrick was trying to convince himself that he hadn't been losing it all these years. He heard a soft chuckle to his left and looked over at the old woman.

"O' course lad. There have been people seeing that castle fer generations. All sorts have seen the castle as well. Normal 'uns, strange 'uns, all sorts have seen the castle lad. Most just never dared to go back."

"Why not? I would think that most would like to learn the reasons why they can see something no one else can see." His question was rewarded with a smile and another chuckle.

"Lad…Patrick, in case you didna notice, not everyone has the same sense o' adventure that you do. Most be scared outta there wits by findin' out that they see what few others can." Mrs. MacMurray smiled a reassuring smile to the young man. "Do ye understand?"

Patrick nodded. The delicate swirling blue pattern on the china consumed his vision as he contemplated her words. He couldn't believe that he wasn't the only one to see the castle, but at the same time he was strangely relieved. A thought suddenly occurred to Patrick and he looked over to Mrs. MacMurray as she reached over and took a piece of fudge.

"Aye lad?" As she waited for Patrick to gather his words she bit into the chocolaty candy held captive in her hand.

"You said that others have seen the castle. Are there any in the area that I could talk to?" Rather then being rewarded with an answer, Mrs. MacMurray swallowed wrong and started coughing as she choked on the piece of fudge. Patrick jumped to his feet alarmed. "Are you ok? Can I get you anything?"

"No lad," was the coughed reply. "Just give me a moment." She had a pause in her coughing fit and took a long drink of her cooling tea. "My apologies lad, you started me with the question."

"Well? Are there any in the area?"

Mrs. MacMurray took her time in answering; wondering how best to answer. "Lad, there be a few. But most don't like to talk 'bout it. They are looked upon as passing strange in these parts."

Patrick nodded, disappointed. He decided it didn't really matter. He would be heading back to the castle tomorrow anyways. He would have his own answers and proof soon enough. No need to talk to someone who didn't want it brought up.

His silence spoke more than any words could to the innkeeper. "Ye're plannin' on going' back aren't ye lad?" Before Patrick could answer she continued, "Of course ye are. Ye're too much like your mum and da not to. When are ye headed out?" She looked at him shrewdly, but then gave him a winning smile.

"Umm…tomorrow. Early, before mum…mom and dad get back from Wick. I am hoping to spend the night on the castle grounds and really explore the area. You aren't going to tell them are you," a touch of panic had crept into his voice when he realized just how much he had admitted to the old innkeeper.

"I willna lie to them lad, should they ask. However, I will tell them that you had been given directions through the woods on a fairly safe path."

Patrick gave an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you Mrs. MacMurray. But why lie to them about the directions? I have already marked out where I am going on my maps."

"Oh ye have? Let's have a look then." The order left no room for debate. Patrick got up and went to retrieve his map case from his room. He returned shortly with the tubular black case in hand. "Well, bang 'em up 'ere. Let's see what kind o' mess ye've made tryin' ta get yerself inta these castle grounds of yours."

Patrick looked at Mrs. MacMurray in mild surprise. Her brogue had gotten deeper with the prospect of helping him with his adventure. As he carefully laid out the map with the color-coded dots he watched her carefully. Her eyes flew over the map. She muttered under her breath in such a quick and quiet voice that he couldn't quite make out what she was saying.

"Hmm…yes…that's right, close there. Shoulda given the lad more credit. Interesting…interesting…" were the only mutterings he could make out. For all intents and purposes she seemed to be looking for something on the map.

"Mrs. MacMurray?" No reply. "Mrs. MacMurray," he asked a little louder. This time she glanced at him to let him know she heard. "What are you looking for?"

Some slight grumbling was his answer before she straightened and looked at him. "Lad, on the trail you took today, did ye happen to notice any logs layin' in a particular fashion?"

The question seemed a little odd to Patrick, but he answered anyways. "Peculiar? How so?"

Mrs. MacMurray frowned and looked back down at the map. "Did ya see any trees along the left hand side of the trail as you were headin' towards the castle that…seemed to be blocking the way on one trail and pointing down another?"

Patrick furrowed his brow in concentration thinking back to his hike earlier in the day "Well, I did notice a couple of large trees that looked as though they had fallen over due to age and a bad storm or two. I didn't really pay attention to whether or not they were pointing in any direction." During his reply Mrs. MacMurray had turned back and started to study the map again.

She nodded and turned towards him. "That would be it lad. Wait here." Without another word she turned and left the room. She could hear her move back towards the kitchen and then surprisingly downstairs. Before he could think of sitting down to wait for her, she had returned. Her face was slightly flushed and out of breath from hurrying back up the stairs. "Ach. Found it! Here it is lad, got somethin' for ye."

He hadn't even noticed the large roll of leather and parchment that she held in her hands. She unfurled it across the table and started shifting through the incredible stack of parchment before them. He saw various maps, documents, and oddly enough, blank sheets of parchment before them. Before he could question her on this she grabbed a smaller piece from the bottom of the stack and deftly yanked it out of the stack. She thrust it into his arms as she quickly rolled the parcel of ancient leather and paper back up.

"That be what ye need for tomorrow lad. That will get you to the castle quicker and safer than the way you was plannin'." When he started to compare the map she had just given him to his own map she stopped him. "Don't lad. These are two completely different maps, and not only in scale or style. The one I have given ye is the fastest and safest way to the castle."

"How do you know Mrs. MacMurray? This doesn't show where the cliffs and other natural landmarks are. The way I had planned was through a fairly safe route being guided by the rough elevation changes."

Mrs. MacMurray looked at him severely. "That may be lad. But ye have heard the tales of the Forbidden Forest haven't ye?" When he nodded with eyes slightly widened in surprise, she continued. "Good. Because those stories have more truth than fantasy to them lad. Ye're mum and da willna believe it because of who they are, but listen to me lad. I have lived in this land since I was a wee lass. I meself have seen things that none ought to see. This _is_ the safest way to the castle. It is a path that all the…beings…in the Forest will allow anyone who travels upon it safe passage."

This was almost more than Patrick could take. He could hardly dare to believe that the tales were true. In a quiet voice he finally spoke, "So…it's true. The tales of mythical beasts and creatures are true."

"Nay. What lives in that Forest, while it may be a creature, is hardly a beast. 'Beast' denotes something of lesser intelligence. Believe me lad, there be beings in that forest that are more intelligent than the smartest of humans, even if they canna speak our language. Do not underestimate what lives within those woods lad."

Patrick nodded his understanding. "So what do those logs have to do with this map?"

"That lad, would be the entrance to that path. It be well hidden; we didna want the wrong people takin' that path. Ta get on ta the path simply touch the knots on the logs like ye be playing a game of connectin' the dots. Make a 5-point star. The logs will let you through."

"Connect the dots? You're joking right Mrs. MacMurray?" Patrick tried to smile to lighten her mood. He had no idea the woman before him could look so serious. She was usually quite a jovial person. "Wouldn't it be easier to go around the logs?"

"I'm not lad. And no it wouldn't. The only way to get on that path is to press those knots. Even if ye were to skirt around the longs, you would only see dense woods. This is the Ancient Land lad. There are magicks here that are older than civilization itself." She stopped and allowed that to sink in. After a moment of silence she took a deep breath and looked at Patrick, "Listen lad. I know this sounds a wee bit crazy to ye. Knowing how your mum and da value education and cold hard facts. It doesn't help either that you have spent most of your life in America where the old ways aren't known or appreciated by the young country. But do ye understand what I am saying to ye?"

"I think so. Am I also guessing that by skirting around the trees or getting off the path in any way gives the…beings…cause to attack?"

"Ye be correct lad. The beings that reside in the Forest are powerful protective of it." Mrs. MacMurray then motioned for Patrick to lean in as she started to point out various things on the map. Places where to watch the path carefully because it had a tendency to disappear. There were also a couple of places where the path branched so Patrick would have to watch it carefully.

Patrick stood up straight and stretched. He had been hunched over that map for the better part of an hour and studying it with Mrs. MacMurray. "Thank you for the t-t-t-tea," Patrick said through a massive yawn, " and the help with the map. I greatly appreciate it."

"Not a problem lad. You had best head on up ta bed. You have a big day ahead of you," she said with a smile that said she knew more than she was telling him. He nodded and headed up the stairs to bed, too tired to even really think anymore.

"Oh! One last thing Patrick. A word of advice," Mrs. MacMurray said as she stood up from the wingback chair she had been sitting in. She walked over to Patrick and placed an aging hand on his forearm. "Don't take any electronics with you tomorrow. They willna work. And that be fact, not myth nor legend."

Once again Patrick's eyebrows raised in surprise. And as his bright blue eyes stared into her dark brown one, he saw a twinkle of knowledge and mischief residing in them. At that point he knew Mrs. MacMurray knew much more than she was telling him. He nodded, "Goodnight Mrs. MacMurray. I will keep that in mind." With that said he turned and headed up the stairs that lead to his room. Mrs. MacMurray bid him goodnight and headed towards the kitchen with the remains of the tea. A small smile played across her lips.

As Patrick readied himself for bed he thought over the last few hours of conversation with Mrs. MacMurray. The more he thought about her comments the more he was sure that she saw a castle and not rubble. He started wondering what differences existed between his parents and himself. The only answer he could come up with was magic. He scoffed at the very idea. While he had a distinct Celtic heritage on both sides of his family, he was reluctant to believe in magic, witches, and wizards.

Patrick finished his last preparations for his excursions in the morning before heading to bed. As he laid down he let exhaustion the day overcome him, and the sound of rain pounding on the roof and trickling down soothe him to sleep. As he drifted off to sleep he heard the rustle of wings and the hoot of an owl as it took off from the tree outside his window.

The morning dawned bright and clear with mud being the only remnants of the tempest the night before. Patrick was downstairs and preparing to eat breakfast by the time the sun had fully risen. After a hearty breakfast of sausages, French toast, and orange juice he was on his way once more to the castle that held his dreams captive.

Patrick slammed the door shut to an old pickup truck and waved as the driver took off. Mrs. MacMurray surprised Patrick that morning by having had set up a ride for him. As Patrick watched the dust cloud of the rapidly disappearing truck he thought of the brief conversation with Mr. Fletcher drive away. Though not much was said Patrick felt certain that Mr. Fletcher was another who could see the castle too.

As he started towards the trail he chuckled to himself. Mrs. MacMurray was right that there were all types that could see the castle. While Mr. Fletcher seemed like a kind good-hearted man, he just had the appearance and attitude of someone who looked for the best deal; even if finding the deal meant doing more than bending a few laws to get it accomplished.

With a quick shift of his shoulders and a pull on the straps, Patrick had his pack comfortably situated on his back. He started a brisk pace through the cool morning air. At the base of the hill that led to the top of the valley Patrick found the crossed logs. Upon close inspection he saw that the knots did indeed look like the points of a star. Taking a deep breath he reached toward the log to connect the dots.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up; he felt as if he was being watched by thousands of eyes. As he looked around him, all Patrick could see was woods and a bird flying far overhead. But the feeling didn't go away. He shook his head and thought to himself, "Get a grip man! You are letting fairy tales go to your head!"

He reached out again and pressed the first knot. The bottom left point pulse a gleaming ruby red. He moved around the star pressing each knot as if he was drawing out the star. The next shone in solid gold, then deep emerald, and brilliant sapphire. His hand trembled as he reached towards the last point at the right of the star.

He knew, from the depths of his soul, that once he touched this knot there was no going back. Everything would change. Before he could change his mind he pressed the knot. He briefly saw a flash of amethyst before being engulfed in a radiant silver white light. As the light died down he thought he heard voices muttering all around him, but he couldn't be sure. His vision slowly returned as tears rolled down his cheeks from the brightness of the light. When he could see clearly again, what he saw took his breath away.

End of Chapter 1

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A/N: I'm not sorry for the cliffie insert evil laugh here. Let me know what you thought and any constructive criticism, not just that you liked or hated it…thanks!

More info later on the area of Scotland I chose…yes Strathnaver is real…and yes I did research for a fanfic. 


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